She can feel his breath, hot on her ear and neck. Her calm is enough to let her drain the rest of her rum'n'coke, her hand only slightly unsteady. "Not so quick as to fail to make an impression, I'd hope," she murmurs, her eyes flickering between her glass Jason's hand resting on the bar, hesitating at making eye-contact, should that prove too much.

In the background, the music continues, the audience rapt. Some soloists with their attention fixed on the musician on stage, others becoming more and more focused on their conversation partners.

"Gotta leave- gotta bleed-
You've gotta stop lying still
'cause this is no kind of life.
You don't need guarantees,
You just want something to build
Before you turn to the knife.

When the streets are aflood like a fever,
It's a holiday of the new.
We're coming closer now to the truuuuuth...

Ooh-Ooh-Ooh you're gonna make your-
mark this time...
Ooh-Ooh-Ooh you gotta set your-
hope on fire..."